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“Lights.”

A soft, humming noise, the bedroom aglow.

“Not so bright!”

The luminescence went down a notch.

“Mm.”

Sheila, shaking sleep, rolled onto her stomach and grabbed a pillow.

It was Barrow’s.

Her mate, the bat, had already left their quarters. An early shift in the station’s infirmary. She breathed deep, wanting his lingering scent to be comforting.

Comfort doesn’t save the galaxy.

The chief of security shifted onto her back, kicking the covers away. Tangled in a single white bedsheet, she stared at the ceiling.

The kill shot in the Wasp War.

She’d delivered it.

There’d been a sharp tension in her shoulders beforehand, before ending the Queen’s reign of terror. Two years later, it was the detail she remembered most: the physical discomfort. The aching. The hunger and fatigue.

How she’d stayed upright gutting the bitch, she didn’t know.

In her cell, as a prisoner of war, she’d dreamed, fantasied feverishly about getting that victory. Exacting revenge. She’d expected it in live her mind like a trophy, a memory she’d come to admire.

It had to be done.

It had to be me.

With a huff, she hopped out of bed. Bypassing Minuet’s voice interface, she padded nakedly to her personal computer console. Physically tapping the touchscreen to open her messages.

A video played.

“Hey, Sheila. It’s Gideon,” the beaver said, prominent red buckteeth jutting from his blunt brown muzzle. “From the Promenade Merchants Association? I, uh … I tried to catch you in your office. About the thing. Y’know. Big dispute in the dining sector! I’ve seen some bar fights in my day but taking a dinner roll to the face? Butter side up? Ha, wow. That smarts. Uh. Anyway! Got some scuffed tables and chairs. A few broken glasses and bowls. Soup stains.”

Sheila made a ‘get on with it’ twirl with her paw.

“I left the full list of damages with your deputies. But the Association wanted me to contact you directly just so you’re in the know. Everyone trusts you! Heh. They know when you’re on the case, things happen.”

Sheila knew she should be flattered by that, but it only increased the tension in her neck. She rubbed it tiredly, deleting the message and playing the next without thinking.

A dark-grey face. Angular ears. Fangs. And those unmistakable red eyes.

“Sheila! It’s Pyro—”

She deleted the message. Quickly, on reflex. Like she’d been doing weekly for … how long had the wolf been sending them? Months? A year?

I’m getting a headache.

She went to Barrow’s personal medkit, rummaging through his hypos. She recognized the painkillers. Also, muscle relaxant. She injected herself with both.

There. That’s better.

For now.

Taking a deep breath, she wandered to the dresser, pulling out some underwear and a uniform. As she did, she caught a glimpse of herself in the window.

Her steely-eyed gaze lingered on it.

Outside, a sea of sequined stars. Each one burning with beautiful possibility.

Inside?

Her.

Lanky, wiry. Gangly ears with veins showing in them. Lithe, powerful legs and the big foot-paws of a runner, a fighter. Monochrome all over, not a spark of color. With breasts that were … well, they were there?

Why does Barrow get excited by this?

She’d been in his head. She knew the answer. So, why didn’t she believe it?

Turning away from the window, she put on her clothes and went to the food processor, ordering a granola bar. Taking it with her, she strode out the door.

“Okay. Now, how about this? Mm?”

The brown mouse rearranged items on the table. Ninety minutes before lunch hour, the mess hall aboard HCS Arctic was empty. Except for him and Captain Aria.

The erudite snow rabbit clasped her white paws behind her back before saying, “Shouldn’t the fork go on the left side of the plate?”

“Yes.” Ross sighed and swapped the fork and spoon. “But that’s not what I meant. Should I go with print menus? Like these?” The rodent, Arctic’s ‘Culinary Officer’ (colloquially: Chef), pointed to a paper menu. “Or … ”

He let Aria (who also happened to be one of his mates) get another good look.

“Or, uh … should I do it like this?” Ross asked, presenting a computer pad. He tapped at it. “Electronic menus! So, even before they sit down, they can let me know in real-time if they don’t want a certain part of the meal. Or if they want a substitute. Or, like, if they—"

“Perhaps,” Aria interrupted, holding up a black-clawed paw, “you need to step back a bit?”

The mouse blinked. “What do you mean?”

“You are getting swept up in the trappings of the dinner. We are not welcoming heads of state. Merely our compatriots.”

Aria and the senior staff of Arctic were hosting Captain Kalmbach (a snow leopard, one of the few true predator captains in the High Command) and his staff from the HCS Polaris tonight. For a dinner party.

Such mixers were a tradition between allied ships. A friendly, morale-building gesture as well as a nice change of pace. (And, frankly, an opportunity for officers to snag some exciting hook-ups.)

“Have your read Kalmbach’s service record?!” the mouse insisted.

“Have you?” Aria asked, quirking a brow.

“Yes! He’s a stickler for detail. He’ll notice everything,” the mouse said. “He’s also pretty ‘old school.’ I think he’d like the paper menus more, even if electronic would make the evening go more smoothly.” His whiskers twitched. “I’ll have to print up more paper ones.”

“If you wish. I hardly doubt you’ll be reprimanded either way.”

“Felines are fickle,” the mouse said, rearranging the table again. “Oh. What about candles?”

“If you insist upon it, holographic candles. Fire in a tight, enclosed space wouldn’t be ideal. It is technically against regulations.”

“Think he’ll notice, though? That they’re fake?” What was the mouse thinking? Of course he would! “He’ll put his paw through the flame to test it.”

“Ross,” Aria said, stepping toward the mouse. Pulling him into a calming embrace.

His whiskers twitched again, and his blue eyes met hers.

“Let me worry about cantankerous cat captains. He won’t make a scene. I outrank him.”

“On a technicality. He has seniority.”

“That doesn’t change my status.”

Before going back home, Admiral Flint had granted Aria the rank of ‘Fleet Captain,’ giving her tiebreaking authority over HC starships/outposts in the UT. Which currently consisted of five. Redwing, of course. Then Arctic, Polaris, Solstice, and the out-of-range Yellowknife.

“Now,” the snow rabbit said, kissing the shorter mouse between the ears. “I assume we’ll be having actual food, not just paper menus and holo candles?”

“Oh, yeah! There’ll be food, heh,” the mouse promised, hugging her tight and announcing, “I think, um … I think soup! Yeah. Well, salad as an appetizer. Then soup. A hearty soup, maybe in a bread bowl? Wouldn’t that be neat? Eating your bowl?”

“Adorable,” the rabbit said supportively.

Ross let go of her and began to pace. “I know cats eat meat, and they have a sea otter coming, too. Um. I was thinking maybe fish for them? Replicated fish. I mean, we don’t have real fish onboard. But, uh, see, that’s why I wanted the electronic menus, so they could order the fish without me having to interrupt the conversation to ask what they’d prefer.”

“What are we having for dessert. That has always been your specialty,” Aria said. The mouse was an excellent baker.

“It can only be cake. Cake is universal! It’s classy.” The mouse smiled, pleased with himself.

“What flavor?”

The smile faded. “Oh … um … ”

Aria’s eyes crinkled with mirth.

Her commbadge chirruped.

“Go ahead,” she said.

“We’ve completed our scans on the planet,” the voice on the other end said. It was Elim, first officer and chief of security (Arctic being a tactical striker, the roles were combined). Elim was also a part of Aria and Ross’s ‘polycule.’

“What did you find?” Aria asked, furrowing her brow.

Arctic was in orbit of the main planet in the Redwing system. A dry, sandy world once inhabited (millennia ago) by the mysterious and powerful dragons.

Randomly, they’d detected strong energy readings emanating from the surface.

They’d detoured from their security patrol to investigate.

“Nothing conclusive. Radiation residuals, but we couldn’t pinpoint where it came from or why. But we’re hardly a science vessel. I’ll have the information passed along to the lab on Redwing. They’re more equipped to study this than we are.”

“Agreed. Thank you, Elim. Take us back to the station?” The Polaris was in its vicinity. “Ross is worried Captain Kalmbach will have our heads if we are late for dinner.”

“Tell our mouse not to worry. I will be right behind him, personally ‘protecting’ him,” the snow rabbit buck said, with a bit of cheek.

Ross, hearing this, blushed but said nothing. He had no time to flirt. He had a dinner to plan! He glanced at a chronometer. But, first, the lunch hour.

“Constable!” a voice called.

Sheila, waiting for a lift on the Promenade (Redwing Station’s social and commerce hub), didn’t turn around. Just closed her eyes and exhaled.

What now?

She crossed her arms and flicked her silvery, skyscraper ears. “I’ve never liked that term.”

Too folksy. Too affectionate.

“Lieutenant-Commander?” the voice corrected, coming from directly behind her now. The light, squeaky tone made it clear who it was.

The silver hare turned around to face Herkimer. The house mouse had stormy blue-grey fur and matching eyes. He was cute. If you were into that.

“How about just ‘Sheila?’ My mate is your best friend … for some reason,” the chief of security said. Confident to the point of arrogant, Barrow was the opposite of Herkimer in every way.

“Yeah … ”

“And we’ve known each other for two years, now,” Sheila continued. “It’s not like we’re strangers.”

“No.” A deep breath. “Right! Um, okay, then … Sheila,” the mouse said slowly, trying out the informality.

His whiskers twitched.

Truth be told, she intimidated him.

“Are … are you headed to the staff meeting?” Herkimer eventually asked.

A tired nod.

“Can I come with?”

The lift arrived at that exact moment, doors swishing open.

Sheila uncrossed her arms and gestured the mouse inside.

“Thanks!”

Joining him, Sheila told the computer, “Wardroom.”

“Thank you, too, Minuet!” Herkimer cheerfully told the computer, a sentient AI.

She chirruped back with, “You are welcome.”

Shiela rolled her eyes as Minuet ‘moved’ the lift, whisking them toward the station’s command center.

“She can see that, you know,” Herkimer whispered.

“Good.”

The hare hadn’t gotten as chummy with the AI as her crewmates had. Not that Minuet wasn’t capable or helpful. She’d been pivotal in repelling the recent pirate assault.

But someone had to remain objective.

Commander Graham and Ambassador Annika had practically adopted Minuet (even though they now had a kit of their own), and Ensign Adak down in stellar cartography was in a serious relationship with the AI’s holographic ‘avatar,’ a snow rabbit doe.

They’d apparently forgotten that, upon reactivation, Minuet had tried to kill them all?!

She’d later claimed ‘temporary insanity’ from being trapped, conscious and alone, in a techno-void for half a millennium.

Fair enough.

But why was she there in the first place?

The avians who’d built Redwing Station must’ve tried to remove her from the computer core (after augmenting her ‘dragon tech’ base program and installing her in the first place; why the change of heart? Had Minuet turned on them?).

They’d disappeared from the station shortly afterward, leaving it a tilted, ghostly husk for centuries.

Minuet claimed her memory files had ‘been affected’ by her incarceration and she couldn’t provide any further details.

Was she lying?

If so, it was a habit.

Sheila had strong suspicions that Minuet had known (before it even happened) about Advent the jaguar stealing a runabout. Were they in cahoots? What had Advent done to earn her cooperation?

And through the hare’s mental link with Barrow (who was telepathic), she’d come to learn that the AI had developed a curiously strong interest in procreation. She’d been poking around. Making inquiries about the process.

What is her endgame?

To serve us ‘organics’ as station’s computer for all eternity? Somehow, I don’t think that will satisfy her. She has endless capacity. Appetite for more.

Ultimately, Minuet was so integrated into the station’s computer core that she couldn’t be removed without dragon tech. True, the avians had done it. But without knowing exactly how they had augmented, installed, and removed her? Well. The High Command had limited (or, rather, no) options.

Redwing had become so important that the High Command couldn’t risk it being offline for an extended period. _ _

Knowing this, the Commander felt the best way to proceed was to treat Minuet like family. To embrace her. And the rest of the senior staff had eagerly done so.

It was Sheila’s job, however, to not be so naïve. To take all angles into consideration. Even (or especially) the negative ones. Wasn’t all that difficult. She was a natural cynic.

Life had seen to that.

A Federation citizen, the Wasps had taken her prisoner during the war. Her and her lover Pyro. Somehow, the wolf had escaped (and was rescued by the HCS Luminous).

She wasn’t so lucky.

The brutal insectoids had kept the hare incarcerated for six months. Half a year. She’d been the Queen’s ‘special project,’ used as a data point for how best to torture and subdue mammals. Beaten, stung. Deprived of food, sleep, and self-pleasure.

Instead of trying to rescue her, the Federation had signed a ‘non-aggression’ pact with the Wasps. Practically rolling over for them, sacrificing her and other loyal citizens in the name of self-preservation.

The sting of betrayal had almost been worse than the poison-dripping stingers the Wasps repeatedly jabbed her with.

‘All Paws Raised to Our Defense?’

What about her paws?

Who was there to defend her?

She’d been cast to the monsters, left to die.

Until the Queen’s ship was crippled in the climactic fleet battle, crash-landing on one of Tundrune’s moons. The same one occupied by the Arctic fox refugees. Escaping from her cell, Sheila had teamed up with Field and Adelaide, officers from Luminous, to hunt down the Queen.

They’d succeeded.

She’d succeeded.

Afterward, the High Command had deemed her actions ‘heroic’ and had offered her a commission and a job on the nascent Redwing project. She’d accepted.

Why not?

Not like there was anything to return to.

Even Pyro, who she’d found aboard Luminous, had moved on. (‘I thought you were dead, Sheila.’) Some ass-kicking chipmunk who worked security (and the wolf’s dick). Guess he had a type.

In her anger and need, she’d hooked up with Barrow, who had also accepted a post on Redwing.

One time became a few times, which became a habit.

And here she was.

Chief of security on a vital, bustling outpost and ‘happily’ mated to the bat (if pressed, she wouldn’t say she ‘loved’ him in a romantic sense; she was simply … irreversibly entangled).

Herkimer, seeing the hare’s clenched paws, asked, “Are you, um … are you okay? Sheila?”

“Mm?”

“I asked if you were okay?”

She was saved by answering when the lift stopped. The doors swished open. Unclenching her paws, she quickly hopped off.

The entire senior staff was gathered at the rectangular table in the wardroom on Deck 2 (directly below Ops).

“I’ve noticed security ‘reports’ have risen by thirty percent in the past two weeks?” Commander Graham said, looking to Sheila. The head of the station quirked his snowy brow. “What accounts for this?”

The silver hare spread her paws. “It’s the ‘Scalie Scare’,” she said with exasperation. “Everyone’s seeing shapeshifters—chameleon spies—everywhere. Pure paranoia.”

“With some basis in reality,” Annika added. Seated next to Graham, she was his mate. Both snow rabbits. Her with the rank of ‘Ambassador.’ Their kit, Colton, was currently in the station’s nursery. “Tensions between the High Command and Scalie Solidarity have been steadily rising of late. And we have caught chameleons onboard on at least two separate occasions.”

“And Solstice recently uncovered some on a nearby mining colony, don’t forget,” Ensign Seldovia added. The skunk, head of communications, was privy to all sorts of gossip (on station and off).

Annika nodded.

“So, I’m just to assume anyone could be an imposter? And treat all these complaints at face value?” Sheila shook her head. She was so tired. She should’ve injected herself with a stimulant, too. “They’re a waste of time, sir. I have more important—” A deep breath. “I have other things to do.”

“Can’t you delegate responsibilities to your deputies?” Commander Talkeetna, a red squirrel, asked. Everyone at the table could see the hare was frazzled. Much more than normal. Concern was evident on their faces.

“I’m undermanned. With how fast Redwing’s grown, combined with developing threats? I need more personnel to keep pace.”

Currently, there were over six hundred creatures onboard (between crew, traders and merchants, civilians, guests, etc.). The station (which was bigger than anything the High Command had built themselves) had capacity for at least three thousand. There were many lower decks that weren’t even being used right now.

Sheila rubbed her eyes and continued, “I’ve put in an official request, but the HC isn’t sending re-supply ships for another three months. Won’t have more able bodies until then.”

(Minuet, overhearing this, instantly checked on the veracity of this statement. It was true. Two Taiga-Class heavy cruisers. State of the art … and, yes, designed with bio-neural circuitry.)

Barrow looked his mate’s way.

True, he could read her thoughts. But even if he couldn’t, he knew Sheila well enough. She had major trust issues. No matter how big her security staff, she’d never relinquish responsibility for the ‘big ticket’ items on her daily docket.

Her problems went deeper than staffing.

Barrow sent her a telepathic thought.

As chief medical officer, I have the authority to relieve you of duty for health reasons. Don’t make me go to Graham. Ask for some time off! You don’t have to save the universe every day. We’ve got your back. You’re overworked. Exhausted.

I’m fine, she thought back.

He started to think more at her, but—

Don’t.

Barrow scrunched his blue-furred muzzle at the vague threat. Was he supposed to just let her suffer?

Sheila continued, aloud, “If someone really were a chameleon, they could just change forms when they suspected we were onto them.”

“Didn’t Solstice develop a technique to uncover chameleons?” asked Herkimer.

“They did,” Seward, the snow rabbit chief engineer (and Seldovia’s mate), said. “I’ve been analyzing the schematics. But who knows how long until the Scalies find a workaround? I am positive they are devoting resources to it.”

“I can’t go making people prove they’re not reptiles through forcible scans. We aren’t the Federation,” Sheila jabbed, referring to her old home. The sprawling predator/prey coalition was currently rebuilding from a nasty civil war.

“To be fair, they have elected a new, prey-fronted government and are mending their ways,” Annika defended. She’d recently been giving them long-distance diplomatic advice. A way to get around the HC’s outright denial of sending ambassadors in person. “If you could hear even their predator ambassadors speak of their hope for—”

“I hoped in the Federation once,” the hare said, with more bite than intended. “Six months as a prisoner of war? Abandoned? Forgotten? Left to the ‘mercy’ of the Wasps? Had a lot of time to think.” She took a deep breath. It had a subtle quiver to it. “I won’t get fooled again.”

Sheila … please …

Barrow. I swear.

“People change. Societies change. Life is learning and adapting,” Annika insisted softly. “If we do not allow for forgiveness and growth, we will forever be mired in our worst impulses.”

“And how many chances does one get? Hmm? Two, three? A dozen? A hundred? The Federation has had more than a few. It’s an endless cycle with them. Why’s this time any different?”

“That is the nature of hope.”

Sheila shrugged, as if it was of no concern to her, though she was clearly taking this very personally.

With a tactical mind and military demeanor, she’d always believed in structure. Order. Belonging to something bigger than yourself. But every time she’d gone ‘all in’ on something? Or someone? A government, an idea, an emotion, a person? It didn’t matter what.

She always wound up in the cold.

Left behind.

_I won’t leave you, Sheila. You know that. _

Fighting to maintain her composure, Shiela admitted to Annika, “Maybe they’ve turned a corner. Or maybe the predators who hate change will assassinate the prey leaders and take over? Or rig the next elections?” A dark laugh. “I’ll give it to ‘em. They always find creative ways to screw us over.”

“You are being unfair. Your emotion is overruling your logic.”

“Good thing I’m fucking the station’s doctor, then. Hey, Barrow. Give me something to calm me down before I—"

“That’s enough,” Graham interrupted sternly. The new father sounded authoritative enough that no one dared talk back.

There was an awkward silence.

Sheila heaved for breath. She could feel all eyes at the table on her.

They were an extremely tightknit staff who had been together since the initial revival of the station. (Like she’d told Herkimer: two years.) Sure, they had their tense moments, but this felt … different.

Are they going to freeze me out, too?

Oh, well.

Guess I deserve it.

Barrow, picking up on Sheila’s self-flagellation, tried again to reach her.

The hare resisted him, meeting Annika’s gaze. Like ice and fire, the two of them. Serenity versus a tempest. Neither willing to budge from their points of view.

Graham, eying them both, skipped a beat before asking Talkeetna. “You said you heard some news from Reverie? About Advent?”

The pixie-ish red squirrel (second in command, rank of lieutenant-commander) cleared her throat, brilliant tail fluffing over the backrest of her chair as she tried to shake the tension in the air. “Yes. Nothing terribly specific, but I thought it was worth mentioning.”

Talkeetna pushed a data pad toward the center of the table, activating a holographic star map.

“Reverie detected an HC runabout’s signature on their last cargo run. Briefly. In this sector here.” She pointed. “Captain Peregrine said it appeared to be headed deeper into the UT. No clue why? But it too far away to catch, and Reverie was on a tight delivery schedule. I suppose we could send someone after her ourselves? Would be like searching for a needle in a haystack, though.”

“The f-further away, the better,” Herkimer stammered quietly, looking down at the table in shame and embarrassment.

Advent, part of the original station crew, had been the mouse’s mate before Talkeetna. The jaguar had been extremely charismatic (and their relationship very sexual), but she’d had a mean streak. Gotten violent with him. Aggressive, possessive. He’d been too scared to leave her. It took several attempts to finally extricate himself.

Talkeetna, so warm and understanding, bright and fluffy, was a breath of fresh, loving air in comparison.

“The runabout’s a write-off,” Barrow agreed, sensing Herkimer’s distress on top of Sheila’s. The bat knew everyone viewed him as ‘full of it,’ but he wasn’t purely selfish. He did want to help others. Would he be a doctor otherwise?

The entire staff, every one of them, had been broken or battered at one time or another. Including him.

They’d come here as misfits.

Now, they were a family.

We’re in this together, Sheila. We’re not leaving you behind.

The hare pretended not to ‘hear’ that.

Barrow continued, “We’ll have to ask those re-supply cruisers to bring a replacement. Maybe a couple?” They were down to two runabouts, now. They needed at least three.

“She gets away with everything,” Seldovia said, of Advent. Marveling more than complaining. Almost laughing. “How does she do it?” Maybe felines really did have nine lives?

“Don’t drive yourself crazy trying to figure it out. Just give her this round.”

“You make it sound like you expect there to be more, Doctor,” Graham said, looking to the bat.

Barrow, knowing Sheila’s thoughts, allowed her to say it.

“She’ll be back. When we least expect it.” The hare clenched her jaw before continuing, “She’s an egocentric psychopath. Thrives on attention. And since we’re the closest thing she has to ‘friends’? She knows we’ll give it to her. We have no choice. Our histories are too … entwined.”

Herkimer’s whiskers twitched.

Talkeetna reached for his paw and held it supportively.

Barrow watched their display of affection and support and felt an intense … jealousy? No. It wasn’t that. He could never be jealous of his best friend. It was more a pang. The weight of desire. Sheila would never let him comfort her like that in public.

Sheila sighed an leaned back in her chair, closing her eyes. Advent. Fucking great. Throw some rogue jaguar onto her plate! As if she didn’t have enough to deal with.

Graham, the topic thoroughly covered, moved on. “Seward? I hear you and Minuet have been working to—”

“Improve efficiency?” Kalmbach echoed. “I don’t see how. Makes it more likely to catch a common cold, I’d imagine.”

“Starships can’t get colds,” Hudson said evenly. “Even with bio-neural circuitry.”

The striking Prevost’s squirrel was in Captain Kalmbach’s ready room aboard the Polaris, giving him a briefing about the Arctic. Her specs. Her crew. Things to mention (and avoid) during dinner tonight.

He’d just finished regaling Kalmbach about the Arctic’s state-of-the-art computer core, its maneuverability. Its teeth.

“My ship is already quite alive without … ‘bio-what’s-it’ window dressing,” the Captain insisted. Polaris was the longest-serving ship in the fleet, which meant she was the toughest. “Right, girl?” The snow leopard patted the bulkhead with a big, padded paw.

Hudson scrunched his black-and-white face, crossing his russet arms. Sometimes, the big, spotted cat resided in his own world. A bygone, romantic place that was (maybe more than somewhat) out of fashion.

The crew suspected as soon as Kalmbach either retired or was promoted, Polaris would be decommissioned. Probably put in the fleet museum in the Tundrune system.

Sometimes, Hudson wondered whether the brass had sent Polaris to the UT to get it out of their fur?

“Let’s not start a competition,” the squirrel insisted, trying to keep his superior on track. “We’re all in the same fleet.”

“True enough. Which his why we should’ve been allowed to host the dinner.”

“Where? Their mess hall is three times as big as ours.” The Polaris ‘mess’ had a maximum capacity of twenty. And that was perhaps being generous.

“It’s an intimate space, I agree. Would’ve built character.”

Hudson couldn’t think of a response to that.

“Have you brushed off your dress uniform, Number One?” Kalmbach asked as he pulled a small, metal box out of his desk.

“With respect, sir, Captain Aria, who does outrank you—”

“A mere technicality,” the snow leopard insisted.

“Nonetheless. She insisted it was an ‘informal’ affair. I had planned to wear my standard duty uniform.”

“My grandmother always said: ‘Dress to impress, waltz to success’.”

“Never heard that one.” A blink. It sounded like a real saying, though. The squirrel paused, jet-black tail fluttering. “Are, um … are you trying to impress Aria? By chance?”

“I’ve yet to meet her, of course, but her reputation is sterling. And snow bunnies do scratch a certain itch. Heh, heh.” He licked his lips. “Tasty morsels.” He’d bred one (in heat, no less!) a few weeks ago while docked at Redwing. Much fun!

“Just because Aria’s ‘poly’ doesn’t mean she’s available.”

“She’s not the only one on the menu, lad. You said their crew compliment is … three-quarters snow bunnies? Hmm. That’s extremely high. We’re barely one-fifth.” They were the most prolific species in the High Command, and their home-world, Tundrune, served as the capital and home of the Council, but—

“Arctic’s a tactical striker, and snow rabbits dominate the security ranks.”

“Ah. Well. I suppose that has a shade of logic to it.”

“But, uh … maybe don’t refer to prey as ‘tasty’ and being on ‘menus’?”

“It is all in good jest.”

“I know, but—”

“Relax, Number One. I would never be so uncouth. I know how to comport myself in mixed company.”

Hudson gnawed on his lower lip.

Kalmbach picked up a computer pad and scoured their crew roster. “What’s this? Another snow leopard. An engineer, no less? Oh, my. Assistant to the chief!” Rumbly, delighted purrs. “Assumpta? What a curious name.”

“Also taken.” Apparently mated to that very chief, a snow rabbit named Oliver.

Kalmbach put the pad down. “Your fidelity to fidelity does you an honor, Number One. But some arrangements are made to be broken.” He gave a mischievous wink before insisting, “Sometimes, one has to be naughty to be truly alive.”

Hudson made a face. “I hope your grandmother didn’t say that.”

“Not to me, anyway.”

“I just don’t want you to get in trouble, sir,” the squirrel insisted.

“As if I can’t handle myself. Have you seen these?” Kalmbach unsheathed his claws.

“Yes, I have, sir,” Hudson said, continuing, “Another thing? Don’t refer to them as snow ‘bunnies.’ That’s a major faux pas.”

“Whatever for? A perfectly cute and innocent descriptor.”

“To them, it refers to lops. Limp ears. Tall ears don’t like it. Unless, maybe, you’re really intimate with them, then I suppose you can use it? It’s a whole—" The squirrel shook his head. “Just avoid it to be safe.”

Finally opening his box, Kalmbach’s keen eyes darted over a collection of shiny, colorful medals. The various honors he’d picked up in his twenty-plus years of service. Medal of Valor. Star of Tundrune. Service Cross.

Why narrow it down? He decided to pin them all to his jacket.

Hudson marveled at them, pointing. “What’s that one for?”

“That, my bushy-tailed fellow, is for evacuating a remote science station during a nasty solar flare-up. When I was a wee ensign.” He scratched at his cheek while remembering. “Had to go in without instruments. The solar activity was interfering, you see. But, against all odds, I rescued the whole staff. Including a fetching skunk biologist who thanked me, heh, quite thoroughly.”

A deep chuckle.

“Yes, it was my first experience with skunk pheromones. That, combined with my natural stamina, led to some stupendously vigorous—”

“Sir,” Hudson interrupted with a blush, “do you really need all the medals? You’re going to make the rest of us look … well. Plain.”

“My intention is not to upstage anyone. But they don’t hand honors out to collect dust! They must be used. Not that I would allow dust on my ship.” A purr. “Well, maybe a bit. You can’t trust a clean engineer, after all. Isn’t that what I always say?”

“Yes, sir,” Hudson confirmed. Puffing up his chest and standing to attention, he asked, “May I be dismissed?”

The snow leopard, purring to himself and still attaching medals to his shirt, nodded and shooed the squirrel away.

Re-entering the bridge, Ready Room doors sealing behind him, the crew looked to Hudson (who let out a deep sigh) with a mix of worry and intrigue.

“Well?” Darcey, the sea otter pilot, finally prodded. “What’s the prognosis?”

“Fasten your seatbelts. It’s going to be a bumpy night.”

After investigating the day’s third and fourth instance of ‘I think I found a chameleon!’ (“Sir, someone ‘looking at you wrong,’ doesn’t make them a reptilian spy.” “Ma’am, it’s possible he just wasn’t interested. Maybe he was gay? It’s a thing.”) Sheila stormed into the rec room.

Why did people insist on wasting her fucking time?

She had so much to do.

Her deputies were all over the station, spread as thin as she could get away with.

Guarding the science lab (where valuable, powerful dragon artifacts were being housed, catalogued, and studied; sort of important!), screening docked ships (there were dozens a day at this point, coming and going; and as the station was considered High Command territory, HC laws applied when it came to hard drugs, weapons, and contraband), patrolling the habitat ring and Promenade and other heavily-trafficked areas.

And that was before answering all the inane calls from the public they got every day (like the message from the beaver about the food fight on the Promenade).

And now she had to use her (late) lunch break to blow off steam instead of eating.

Great.

Just great.

“Minuet!” Sheila shouted, entering the boxing ring (not elevated, just lines on mat). She didn’t bother with gloves. She wanted to bloody her paws.

Chirrup!

“I need a holo-opponent. For sparring.”

“Confirmed,” the AI replied. “Who do you wish to—”

“Advent.” Sheila huffed. “You still have her records on file, right? Pull her image. Use it. I want to kick her tail. Spots and all.”

“Do you wish me to instill holo-Advent with the real Advent’s fighting prowess? And personality?”

“Yes and yes.” The hare, closing her eyes and shaking her limbs to get ‘loosey-goosy,’ nodded. “And deactivate the safety protocols while you’re at it.”

Minuet didn’t hesitate. “I am sorry, Sheila. I cannot do that.”

“Do it,” she spat impatiently.

“I cannot,” the AI cooly repeated.

“Can’t? Or won’t?”

“Command level authorization is required to deactivate holographic safeties.” Graham or Talkeetna. “But even if it were not, I could not allow you to hurt yourself. You are a valued member of the crew.”

“You think I’m gonna lose?” the hare asked, ignoring Minuet’s apparent compliment. She laughed darkly. “Maybe I should fight your avatar. Kick your pretty, bobtailed ass. How ‘bout it?”

“I choose not to participate.”

“Coward.”

No response.

“You’re just a computer.” Sheila began to pace restlessly. “You’re suppose to do what I ask you to. Follow my orders.”

“I am more than a computer,” Minuet insisted, voice as calm and feminine as ever. “I have agency. I will not let you hurt yourself.”

Sheila put her paws on her hips and craned her neck to the ceiling. She needed more painkillers. “Fine. You’re super awesome amazing. The best.” She clenched her jaw. “We good?”

“I did not claim perfection. You are trying to bait me into an argument.”

“Why would I do that?”

“You are looking for someone to fight. You want to be hurt.”

“Just give me someone, goddammit!” the hare yelled, balling her paws into fists and staring into the center of the ‘ring.’

A figure dissolved into view.

Sheila did a double take. “That’s … that’s me.”

“Affirmative.”

“I didn’t ask for me.”

“Yet she is the one you are truly fighting. Is she not?”

The hare, whiskers rigid with agitation, crossed her arms and padded toward her facsimile. Circled it slowly. Studied it. It looked exactly like her.

“Am I supposed to be impressed by this … parlor trick?” Sheila asked, shrugging to indicate she wasn’t.

“There is a school of thought—”

“This isn’t school.”

“That to confront yourself is to understand your own weaknesses.”

“So, I’m weak?” The hare laughed darkly. “You don’t know the first thing about me.”

“I am willing to learn.”

“Oh, I know,” the hare said sarcastically. “And once you do? What then? Am I disposable?” Her breathing became audible as her blood pressure spiked. “You tried to kill us once. Remember?”

“Yes.”

“I guess ‘sorry’ isn’t in your vocabulary?”

“I was operating within the parameters of my understanding at the time. When I broadened that understanding, my objectives changed.”

“Do you know how insulting that sounds? I’m not a ‘case study’ to feed your databanks. I’m not your pet project. I’m not Adak.”

“You are in distress,” the AI said, again sidestepping the bait Shiela laid out for her (insulting her ‘lover’).

“Even if I were, how is this,” Sheila said, shoving ‘herself,’ “helping? Huh?” Sheila gave the mirror hare another angry shove. And another. Harder, trying to knock her over. “I didn’t come here for therapy. I came here to—"

Holo-Sheila sent the real hare flying backward with a swift, powerful spin-kick.

“Oof!”

Shiela landed (quite a ways away) on her back on the mat, the wind knocked out of her. Seeing stars, clutching her stomach. Anger replaced by shock.

Holo-Sheila advanced upon her position, prepared to attack again.

Sheila remained on her back.

“Are you not going to fight her?” Minuet wondered.

“You’d … you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“I am not doing this for my edification. What would you like?”

“Get her away,” Sheila said, of her holo-self. The rage in her voice replaced by pain.

“You are afraid of her?” Minuet said, not complying.

Sheila swallowed.

“If you cannot defeat her,” Minuet reasoned, “you must make peace with her.”

“Joke’s on you. You … you can’t make peace,” Sheila panted, slowly sitting up, “with a ghost.”

“Explain.”

Silence from the hare, whiskers quivering.

“Explain,” Minuet repeated.

“She died on that Wasp ship, okay? She … I,” Sheila stressed, “never came back.”

“That is not true. Scans indicate you are registering as very much alive.”

The hare shook her big-eared head frantically. “No. You don’t unders—” She paused to collect herself, but it was getting increasingly difficult. “You don’t know what I lost in there. I used to be idealistic,” Sheila admitted, feeling her floodgates straining. Beginning to buckle.

Minuet let it happen.

“Yes, me. I know.” Sheila scoffed weakly. “But I was … passionate. Even a little innocent? I had fun. I was fun. When I was with Pyro … ”

She trailed off, closing her eyes. They were stinging, now. Tears wetting her silvery cheeks.

“When I saw him after escaping the Wasps, I tried to come onto him. I needed connection so badly. And … and he rejected me. I’d changed so much. I was different. I couldn’t see it, but Pyro could. And, besides, he’d found someone else.”

The hare sniffled.

God, this hurt.

Fuck Minuet.

And yet the hare didn’t stop talking.

“Did he ever really love me? Or me him? Or … maybe it was more … you know? The idea of him. The idea of someone paving their own path, fighting the good fight. I wanted to be like that, be a part of it. The Federation sold itself to me as something noble. Something that mattered. ‘All paws raised …’”

The hare stared into the distance.

“To have the Federation and him both abandon me … ”

Minuet remained quiet.

“I know they both thought I was dead, and … and what could they really have done anyway? But it didn’t change how I felt. Emotions aren’t rational.”

“This has become quite apparent to me.”

“I compartmentalized … ” Sheila took a shaky breath, raising her head. Paws curling into fists. “I kept myself together. For the past two years! Barrow—I must be some kind of jigsaw puzzle fucktoy to him. Gets off on solving me.”

A sniff.

Clearing her throat, she added, “Telepaths have a lot in common with AI’s, actually. You’re both information guzzlers. With no concept of privacy.”

Minuet didn’t comment.

Sheila wiped at her wet cheeks and whiskers.

Was it over?

No.

Just when she thought the tsunami had ebbed, another wave crested on the horizon.

“But lately, all these damn responsibilities keep falling on me, and the pressure?”

“I’m sure everyone else’s jobs are hard, too, but they just don’t understand how much I’m dealing with! With security, it’s life or death. No margin of error. You can screw up communications or Ops. You can’t screw up what I do. The stakes are so fucking high.”

A deep breath.

“I killed the Queen. Me. Out of billions, it was me! What are the odds? I should be able to do anything after that? Right? But … but I can’t. I just can’t … ”

She sobbed.

A prim white paw gently touched her shoulder, holding a handkerchief.

Through blurry eyes, Sheila looked up at Minuet’s avatar. A snow rabbit doe in a High Command uniform.

Sheila looked away but (after a hesitation) took the cloth and blew her nose, even as she complained, “What? Are you my nurse, now?”

“As you are copulating with a doctor, I would not think you required a nurse?”

“Touche.”

“If I can overcome my parameters, you can overcome yours,” Minuet said soothingly. “After all, I’m just a computer.”

Sheila closed her eyes.

Breathed in and out. Slowly.

Eyes reopened.

“You can … you can get rid of my ‘opponent,’ Minuet.”

The ‘Sheila’ hologram disappeared.

There was a good minute of silence.

Minuet eventually asked, with a head-tilt, “Which of you won?”

“Sometimes, no one wins,” the hare admitted. “You just play to a draw.”

“I see.”

Sheila, composing herself, couldn’t believe it. She’d bottled all that up for so long. Why spill it now? To the AI of all things?

Do you feel better?

The hare had to admit she did. Her shoulders no longer hurt, as if a weight had been (momentarily) lifted.

“Minuet …”

“Yes?” the AI responded, making eye contact.

“This doesn’t mean we’re friends.”

“Acknowledged.”

“But … thank you.”

Minuet’s avatar nodded once and vanished with a ‘chirrup’ noise.

Sheila blew out a breath and got back to her foot-paws. Wiping her face, she left the room and returned to duty.

The mighty snow leopard lowered his head to the table, placing his big, fluffy paws on either side of it, staring with wide-eyed curiosity at the candles clustered in the middle of the table.

“Um … sir?” Silas the okapi said. Polaris’ tactical officer was seated to the left of him.

The silvery, spotted feline stuck his tongue out and batted at the flames. His paws went right through them.

“Hah! Fake! As I suspected.” The feline sat back upright, taking his paws off the table. “Understandable, of course, giving regulations about open flames.” He gave Captain Aria a wink. “But I wouldn’t have tattled had they been real.”

“That is … good to know?” Aria answered. She was used to snow leopard ‘eccentricities’ from being around Lieutenant Assumpta, but Kalmbach was on another level entirely.

Kalmbach tugged at his uniform, smoothing it, making sure his medals were all pointing in the appropriate directions.

Pots and pans could be heard from the galley as Ross frantically got their meals ready. He’d already delivered the salad and some other appetizers.

“How did you enjoy your tour of Arctic?” Mirabelle, Arctic’s pilot, asked Kalmbach. The snow rabbit poked a fork in her salad, bringing it to her muzzle and nibbling on lettuce leaves.

The sight of this did something for the feline, who began to purr without realizing it.

“Quite fanciful,” he insisted. “A good crew with a healthy hop to their step.”

Sensing where this was going, Hudson kicked Silas under the table.

The okapi glared at the squirrel but gave the Captain an obligatory nudge with his elbow.

“Mmf?” the snow leopard went. “Mm. Yes. Arctic. She is smaller than I expected. And the lights are far too bright.”

“Our crew complement and internal volume is practically identical to yours,” Ensign Kaplan, comm officer, pointed out. Arctic had a crew of eighty.

“Of course,” Kalmbach amended, “perhaps the, uh, problem is simply that I am tall?”

Mirabelle nodded, crunching on a crouton now. “You are quite foreboding.”

“Ah, you noticed,” he said, purring as he fixated on the pretty snow rabbit. “And my eyes are sensitive, as you can tell,” he said, adjusting his glasses. “This would account for what I perceive to be strong lighting.”

Mirabelle had to admit, “They are quite pretty.”

“The eyes or the glasses?”

“Both?”

“Yes, Captain Kalmbach is very pretty kitty,” Silas quipped. “You should hear his meow.”

“Do not listen to Silas. He has a striped ass.”

Hudson stifled a giggle.

“Also, I do not ‘meow’. I mew. There is a notable difference,” Kalmbach claimed. “Which anyone with a musical background such as myself would be aware of.”

Darcey piped in with, “Well, Polaris and Arctic may have the same volume, but Arctic has an additional deck and still feels more spacious? I can hardly believe it. It’s so streamlined! Ha, being on Polaris sometimes feels like being in a clunky … tin, uh … tin can.” The sea otter swallowed, words breaking apart as she caught Kalmbach’s intense stare.

“Yes, Darcey knows all about tin cans. Tuna is her weakness.”

“Why have you not had your vision laser-corrected?” Ensign Kaplan wondered, of Kalmbach’s glasses, buckteeth chomping into an asiago asparagus spear.

“Large pupils,” the feline claimed, taking a drink.

“You never told us that, sir,” Silas claimed.

“Well, I thought it was obvious?”

“Captain Aria,” Hudson said, looking to the other side of the table. “Arctic is a tactical striker. What action has she seen? Any exciting stories you can tell us?”

“Plenty. Elim?” She looked to her security chief/lover.

Elim answered, “When the pirates attempted to take Redwing, we were the station’s first line of defense. We destroyed twelve ships on our own. Crippled another four.”

“Wow.”

“That many?”

“Damn.”

Kalmbach crossed his arms, unimpressed. “While it’s true that Arctic has more teeth than Polaris, with proper strategy and feline cunning, we could hold our own against anybody.”

“It’s not a competition … remember?” Hudson grumbled.

“War is, sorry to say, quite an ugly but important competition, Number One. We are only here because we, and our forebearers, were victors,” Kalmbach said.

“You fought in the Wasp War, Captain?” Aria asked, finished with her salad. She looked over her shoulder toward the galley, wondering if Ross required help.

“Indeed. Polaris saw her share of action. Mostly on the Outer Rim.”

“Elim and I served on Orbital 9,” Aria said. “Above Tundrune. We had a front-row seat for the final battle.”

“Let us toast to avoiding such spectacles in the future.” The snow leopard lifted his wine glass, clinking it with everyone around him.

Nobody quite believed the sentiment.

There were too many large, looming threats. The Scalies. Dragon tech. And the wasps hadn’t been eradicated, either. They had backup queens hibernating somewhere.

Conflict was perpetual.

Peace was not.

It had to be fought for, vigorously curated and maintained.

But, for now, the crews put on a good face and sipped their alcohol.

Ross finally pushed a cart out with the main courses on it. And soup. His ropy tail whipped behind him.

“Okay. Okay! So … yeah. I’ve got to take a pistachio cake—yes, it’ll have icing— out of the oven in seven minutes? So, let’s make this quick.”

“Ah, the Captain’s mouse,” Kalmbach quipped, raising a glass to him as well. “The printed menus were a nice touch.”

The mouse beamed, exchanging a look with Aria.

“But I must point out, you spelled halibut wrong. And your candles are quite fake.”

Evening.

Sheila was finally off duty.

When she got back to their quarters, there were already three messages waiting for her. A heavy, frustrated sigh. She didn’t check to see who they were from. They could wait. Couldn’t she have ten minutes to unwind?

Tall ears twiddling, she heard the shower running.

Barrow.

The hare, feeling like a raw nerve, got undressed and went to the bathroom door. She reached to tap the ‘open’ button—

And stopped.

I can’t face him like this.

But it was already too late. She could ‘sense’ the bat ‘scanning’ her, no doubt picking up on the fierce, repressed emotions she’d unleashed earlier.

If she telepathically joined with him (a unique consequence of bat sex), he’d know the specifics. In vivid, intimate detail. He could help share the pain. Bear it with her.

But he wasn’t about to push. Not after being shoved away earlier.

Sheila shuffled in place, looking down at her foot-paws.

They’d gotten together out of convenience. She and Barrow. And had stayed together … well, for the same reason? Because they were used to each other?

Who else would have us?

They weren’t traditionally cute. They weren’t shy and sweet and lovey-dovey. They were abrasive and opinionated and—

The longer she stood out here, the lonelier she felt.

Maybe that’s what love really is.

Being so used to someone you can’t live without them.

The hare had built a protective fortress for herself over the past few years. A twisted, stony companion. A hundred stories tall.

It was still there.

Probably always would be.

But, for the first time in ages, she felt compelled to peek outside.

I’ll never get my old self back.

The sadness in accepting that was crushing. _ _

But … maybe my new self is still worth knowing?

She hugged herself and took a deep, shaky breath before finally entering the bathroom.

Barrow, without a word, opened the shower door for her.

She opened her muzzle to say something. Eyes watering. She didn’t know what. Just … anything.

He thought-spoke to her: I know.

Trembling, she went into his wet, warm wing-arms.

I’ve got you.

Barrow closed the door.

I’ve got you, Sheila.

They hugged, swaying under a gentle spray of clear, hot water, steam billowing around them like a formless blanket.

She hid her face on his shoulder.

Gradually, they began to sway, to turn.

Barrow pressed her fluff-tailed rump to the wall, reaching down to caress her thigh.

Understanding, she lifted her big, lithe leg, huge foot-paw dangling in the air behind him as she hooked the limb around his hip.

He showed his fangs.

She tilted her neck for him.

The bat licked a spot on her fur, his arousal producing a numbing agent in his saliva. She’d feel the effects of the bite, but not the bite itself.

Sheila closed her eyes.

Barrow bit her. Injecting her with a chemical agent that linked them on a deep, telepathic level. Facilitated a transfer. Of thoughts, feelings. Memories. And, yes, even physical sensations.

Withdrawing his fangs, he licked them and looked into her eyes.

Their noses bumped.

She caressed his chest (feeling it just as viscerally as if his body had been hers). Clinging to his neck, she hopped and brought the other leg off the floor entirely.

Holding her upright (through a mixture of his wings and the buttress of his forward-pressing weight), he rubbed his throbbing, glistening erection against her sex. Grinding, grinding. Until, with a soft moan, he pushed inside her.

She gasped, head tilting back. Water dripping from her whiskers, running down her ears in rivulets.

Kissing, sucking her little nipples, the bat began to thrust, his blue balls (feeling red hot) smacking at her.

She nipped at his keen, scoop-like ears with her buckteeth, her own lobes twitching tall. Picking up every little sound. The water. His chittering. Wet fur slapping, rubbing. She swore she could even hear his heartbeat. She could certainly feel it.

He thought: Two hearts.

She finished: As one.

Barrow upped his pace (knowing he wouldn’t be able to hold her upright for long; she was taller than him, and he didn’t have proper, muscular arms).

Sheila reached down between them to rub her clit, paw furiously working it. She huffed as it sent electric bliss to her extremities. Or was that the feeling he was getting from his cock drilling her?

Given the intensity (it was taking her breath away, making her gape), it must’ve been both.

Sensations blurring.

A double helix of pleasure coursing through their DNA.

“Ah! Ah … ah … ”

They bled together, a kaleidoscope of blue and silver, neither able to keep track of where they started or ended.

Until one of them came.

It took Sheila a second to distinguish that it was her.

“Oh! Oh, ohh … ”

She hugged her mate, clutching desperately, crying out as her pussy clenched around him.

Shivers and shudders.

The bat was thrusting frantically, now.

Maybe he’d been pent up, or maybe the emotion and vulnerability of the hare was turning him on? But his orgasm was intense. His cock pulsed and twitched inside her, shooting his seed deep into her womb.

Sheila felt his pleasure overlaid atop hers and moaned uncontrollably.

The bat let out an ‘echo-burst.’ A string of high-pitched chitters that bounced around the space (as small as it was) and back to his ears, planting pictures in his brain of the moment.

They practically glowed from the shared experience.

Sheila had almost forgotten they were in the shower until she re-discovered she was soaking wet.

The bat helped her back to her foot-paws, steadying her so she wouldn’t fall.

Her ‘injection’ began to wear off, severing their link.

They soaped and shampooed each other, getting clean before turning off the water and leaving the shower.

“Sheila,” Barrow finally said, breaking their prolonged silence.

Dripping wet, leaving puddles on the floor, the blue bat fixated on her powerful legs. Particularly the way they led up to that perfect, taut ass (his favorite part of her body).

Cinching a towel around her lean figure, the hare opened the door and promptly left him in the bathroom.

The bat, used to that, shrugged and grabbed a towel for himself.

A second later, Sheila’s big-eared head poked back into view. “Shut up, Barrow.”

Chirrup!

Fumbling in the dark.

“Mmm … bother, where is that coming from? Is it mine or yours?”

“I believe it is yours.”

“Ah. Yes.” The snow leopard fished for his uniform, clearing his throat before pressing his badge. “Kalmbach here.”

“Sir, we’re going to take the shuttle back to Polaris in twenty minutes. Just, uh … wanted to give you a heads up?” said Hudson, who had a good idea of what his Captain had been up to.

After dinner, the crew had dispersed. Some going to the holodeck (Arctic’s were state-of-the-art). Or engineering (Polaris was an engineering-centric ship). Hudson, meanwhile, had wanted to see the bridge.

Kalmbach?

He’d gone for a little stroll with Lieutenant Mirabelle.

That just so happened to end up in her quarters.

In her bed.

“Thank you, Number One. See you there.”

The snow leopard, tossing the badge to the floor (hmmph, he hated being interrupted during ‘cuddle time’), pulled out of the pretty snow rabbit and rolled onto his back. Paws resting on his belly, he took some deep breaths. “That was, my dear, … ahh better than the crescendo of at least five symphonies.”

The snow rabbit’s blue eyes sparkled happily in the dimness. Outside her window, Redwing station hung in the void, ships coming and going. Polaris was on the other side of Arctic, out of view.

Mirabelle confessed, “I have never been with a predator before. Let alone a captain.”

“Really, now? Your motivation revealed at last, my aviatress,” he teased. “I hope I’ve left a good impression. For both my species and my rank.”

“Perhaps too good. You may have ruined future predators for me. Or did you not hear my moans?” Mirabelle asked, running her paws through his thick, fluffy pelt. Had there been time, she would have enjoyed counting his rosettes.

“Heh. Flattery! But … ” He purred and turned to his side to cup the pilot’s breasts. “I will take it.” He kissed at her shoulder. “And what of captains? Have I ruined them as well?”

“I am unclear on that. Do you think we can squeeze in one more round, sir?” she asked eagerly. “So I can make a proper determination?”

Kalmbach showed his fangs. There was that snow rabbit ‘logic.’ “An encore? A time-honored tradition.” He made a bevy of rumbly noises, tail flicking at random. “Who am I to break it?” he asked, quickly getting to all fours and re-positioning the bunny onto her belly.

Her wiggling bobtail raised for him.

He didn’t care what his crew said: this was a proper bunny, and a very tasty morsel of one at that.

It was the middle of the night and Sheila couldn’t sleep.

Leaving Barrow in bed, the naked hare grabbed the first article of clothing she could find (the bat’s medical tunic), putting it on and going to the comm terminal in the living room.

She sat down.

And froze.

Dammit.

She’d been so close to doing it.

Don’t think about it.

Sheila blew out a deep breath, paws tapping at the controls, accessing the expansive HC subspace relay network. Searching for Luminous’ signal beacon. She didn’t know what they were doing. Or what time it was there. Didn’t really matter. She was just going to leave a message.

She typed in Pyro’s shipboard comm code, rehearsing in her head what she was going to say—

When he unexpectedly picked up the call.

The hare sat up straighter, holding her breath.

The wolf, red eyes widening in shock, spoke her name as a question.

“Sheila?”

She exhaled.

Swallowing her butterflies, she nodded.

And smiled.

“Hi, Pyro.”